


A Devotion to Barbecue

by Dirtyhands



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Catholic, Gen, meat - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-03 22:06:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5308763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dirtyhands/pseuds/Dirtyhands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Steve tries to act normal.  Really, he does.  It usually involves an obstacle course of social hurdles and pitfalls and leering women.  Then there's Earl's barbecue, which makes it all worth it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will probably be way too boring and way too Catholic for most of you. Nothing exciting happens. I wrote it mostly for me as a character study of Steve, and posted it in case anyone might enjoy it. If you've got a thing against faith or against eating meat, then this one isn't for you.

**Yes, I have more of Scruffy Girl coming. I'm kinda stumped, but I'll get the next chapter out soon as I can. Until then...**

 

* * *

"G fifty-four… G five-four," Steve called.

He set the little plastic ball in the numbered rack and flicked the switch to light up the number fifty-four on the display board. His other hand already held the next ball the bingo machine sent up the tube. Steve waited a count of three, then announced the next number.

He smiled a small, measured smile at little Slayter Hutchins, who was running around and around in the aisle of the church hall, flying a plastic toy airplane with his arm stretched high. His rubber crocs slapped on the linoleum tile floor as he ran. Steve was surprised the older ladies were putting up with the kid making noise during the game. Some of these people were _real_ serious about their Thursday night bingo.

"B eleven… B one-one," Steve called the next number.

An older man walked up to the table and slid a piece of paper in front of Steve. Steve picked it up and read it. Ah. Of course. Steve cleared his throat and made the announcement to the two hundred people who were waiting for him to call the next number.

"The Knights of Columbus would like to remind you that their annual barbecue fundraiser for the building maintenance fund is this Saturday from ten to two. You know they always do it up right, so folks, tell your friends, family and neighbors. Plates are just eight dollars, so everybody come out and support the parish this Saturday," Steve said.

Several people nodded. A lot more people looked at him impatiently.

"I twenty-two. I two-two," Steve said.

The airy rattle of the bingo machine droned on beside him. The thumps of felt stampers marked the number twenty-two all around the room, and Slayter's feet slap-slap-slapped on the floor. The boy's mom finally fussed at him quietly and pulled him into a plastic chair beside her. She had an infant to hold in her left arm, numbers to search for on her bingo papers, and Slayter squirmed in his chair. Steve admired the grace with which she managed everything.

"O sixty-seven. O six-seven," Steve called.

"Bingo!" an excited lady in the back said. A moment later, an older man near the front grumbled out his 'bingo' too.

"Hold your cards, hold your cards," Steve said.

Elaine Hidalgo, who was a floor walker tonight, went to the winners and called the numbers back to Steve.

"That's two good bingos. Split pot. Next game is the blackout, played on your red paper. A win in fifty-seven numbers or less gets two hundred dollars. Win on the fifty-eighth number or beyond and it's a hundred dollar pot. Good luck," Steve instructed.

Steve used his thumb to shove his comm back into his ear more snugly. He didn't know why it tended to slip loose when he called bingo every other Thursday, but the darn thing was wigglier now than during heavy action on a mission.

" _This is so boring_ ," Tony said in his ear for the fifth time.

"Then quit listening in. Go do something else," Steve responded to him under his breath while he fed the called balls back into the bingo machine to start the next game.

He flipped all the display board switches back to the 'off' position and waited until everyone in the room had their 'free space' in the middle of their cards stamped.

" _I can't. Thor's got his tongue down Jane's throat and he's not watching the monitor. God,_ please _hurry up and finish and come home_ ," Tony complained in his ear.

"Hush, Tony. It's blackout," Steve murmured to him.

The church parishioners of Saint Gertrude's were accustomed to Steve having his comm piece in his ear, and they tolerated his split attention because most of them understood that with his job, he was on call all the time. Nobody looked at him strangely anymore when he appeared to be mumbling to himself at church functions.

"Our first blackout number is B fourteen. B one-four," Steve announced.

His mind wandered while he went through the familiar motions of calling the game numbers. It was a bother sometimes to the other Avengers when one of them tried to participate in anything approaching a normal life. Still, they all made the effort to help each other find what little normalcy they could. Clint and Buck had opened a shooting class in the tower basement for concealed carry holders and applicants. Natasha taught ballet to toddlers on Tuesdays, and Thor occasionally made appearances at local universities when they had a Norse mythology course. Once, Jane and Bruce tried to make a cross disciplinary presentation series for graduate students, but it hadn't gone as they'd hoped, and they'd given up on that. Mostly industry wonks with lots of questions had showed up in the auditorium instead of students, so they hadn't tried that again.

For Steve, being part of his church parish was relaxing. Not long after he'd awakened to the twenty-first century, he'd sought out a quiet little parish where attendance was dwindling to mostly old folks and a few young, devout families. At first, his presence in the pew on Sundays and sometimes during the week didn't cause much of a stir. Nobody knew who he was. Women looked at him sometimes for a little too long, but he was getting used to that, so he just smiled or tried to ignore it when it happened.

Then the Chitauri attack had happened, and then he'd been away to DC for a while, and Pierce had put his face all over the news trying to catch him as Shield was going down. He'd moved back to New York, and for a month or so, his fellow parishioners at Saint Gertrude's had been either awkwardly quiet around him, or overly chatty and familiar. Nobody knew what to make of having him among them. But the older men of the church parish, especially those who were veterans, took him right in and treated him like one of their own.

When the Knights of Columbus asked him to join, and the guys started calling him to help with barbecues and grounds maintenance, Steve started to feel at home. On a Sunday afternoon, it wasn't unusual to see Steve standing around having a beer with the older men who had lots of experience with the huge black iron barbecue pit, and a respectable belly to show for it. Some of them had gray hair, and some of them had no hair at all. Carl Ivarsson had strangely thick black hair despite his age. But they all had stories to tell, and they liked to listen to Steve tell his stories, too.

The bingo numbers went by slowly, and eventually little Slayter slipped into the free space of the aisle again to twirl around with his toy airplane. A lavender-haired lady gave the energetic child a mean glance because the noise of his crocs on the floor made it hard for her to hear the bingo numbers. Steve called the numbers a little louder.

If nothing came up, he'd be up all night Friday with the fellas to grill the meat for Saturday's fundraiser. He'd get to hear them complain about their jobs and their wives and whoever was playing against their favorite team. He would get ribbed about not finding a girl to settle down with yet, and they'd suggest a match with somebody's daughter, but they weren't as bad about it as Natasha was.

" _Standby, Cap. We might have something_ …" Tony said in his ear.

"N forty. N four-zero," Steve announced.

His voice had gone slightly terse. Chip Weston, Scott Wells, and Terry Guthrie looked up from their bingo cards at him. A few of the women did too, but they were just curious why their men were looking. The men, especially the veterans, picked up on the times that Steve wasn't as relaxed as usual.

" _Never mind. All clear_ ," Tony said.

Steve grunted slightly to let Tony know he acknowledged the information, then he let out an even breath.

Some people noticed his moment of distraction. Most just waited for the next number to be called, ink daubers poised above their game papers. The little lady who had a problem with Slayter's playfulness squinted at Steve impatiently.

Steve called the next number. He shook his head slightly at his fellow Knights. The ones who were watching him relaxed.

They knew. Of course they knew. Father Ken Ramsey was a relatively young priest, fresh out of the Army, where he'd served as Chaplain. Steve liked having a young priest at his church. He was a man who could move quickly if he had to, a man who understood how to both give and follow orders. Father Ken had sensed his hesitance to become a more active part of the parish family, and they'd had a long talk about Steve's concerns.

Steve felt that he would be putting people in danger if he became a regular at church functions. Like Thursday night bingo, for example. Anyone with a grudge against the Avengers could easily know where to find Captain America out and apparently vulnerable, if they only did a little digging. But Father Ken pointed out to him that they had several law enforcement officers in the congregation too. These days, anyone could be a target, and nowhere was really safe. With terrorists on the news blowing things up unpredictably, people understood that. Some people had even expressed to him that they felt safer when Steve was around, and he didn't want to argue, so he thanked them.

Still, Steve felt the need to take extra precautions whenever he spent time here. Bucky usually tagged along, dressed down and kind of disguised. Somebody was always back at the tower keeping watch on the neighborhood around Saint Gertrude's. Jarvis monitored everything he could sense, which was a lot, since everybody had cell phones nowadays. And Steve kept his comm in so he could quickly get clear of civilians and minimize any damage if something dangerous developed.

"Blackout!" a teenage boy shouted.

A grumble of disappointment spread through the room.

Steve double-checked that the boy had a valid win, and Elaine brought him his cash. The kid was happy and grinning as he stuffed the money in his pocket.

"Thanks for coming out tonight. Our next bingo will be on the tenth of next month," Steve told everyone.

He turned off the microphone and the bingo machine. Elaine moved to the table with him to start putting away the equipment.

"How many people came tonight?" he asked her for the sake of making conversation. He'd already taken a quick head count, but nobody needed to know things like that. It was hard enough for folks to accept him as just one of the guys without them constantly being reminded that he could do things like tally a room full of people at a glance.

"I think the count was two-thirty-five. Steve, we appreciate you calling the games when you can. Attendance is way up, and the orphanage really appreciates the extra funding," Elaine told him with a smile while she unplugged the bingo machine and coiled the extension cords for storage.

"Eh, it's nothing. I'm glad I can help," Steve shrugged.

He went to help the men fold up and put away the plastic tables and chairs.

" _Damn. That's loud. Do you have to slam things around so much_?" Tony asked over the comm.

"I appreciate you keeping an eye out, Tony, but I could do without the running commentary. You know how to turn the mic feed down," Steve grumbled.

He really was thankful that his friends and co-workers helped to make this possible for him. But, part of what made it enjoyable for Steve was being _away_ from the Avengers and the plush modern luxury of the tower. He liked the everyday people at Saint Gertrude's. It helped him to remember what it was he fought for when he put on the uniform. It helped him to remember how he'd grown up, despite all the years that had passed.

Now, just like then, it was usually young women who juggled little ones, while men did the heavy lifting and told stories that might or might not be true, older folks cooked and cleaned in the kitchen, and the kids ran around and laughed. Same as always, it was a small group of people who took on the responsibility of running everything. People were generally happy, despite all the troubling things happening in the world, and that was another thing Steve really needed to see. He saw a lot of mean and evil people when he put on the Captain's uniform. All day at the tower, he spent his time in briefings and strategy meetings thinking about how to protect folks like this from those mean and evil people.

A peaceful, calm evening among good people did more for his mental health than an hour every week with a therapist. Little Slayter ran up to him and slammed into his legs at full speed while his mother held the baby and fussed at Slayter to not bother Steve.

"Mister Steve-America, can you do something with my plane?" the boy asked.

Steve laughed. Kids, and even the grown-ups, didn't always know what to call him. He'd insisted that everyone just call him Steve, but people had trouble with that sometimes. Slayter's version of his name was one he hadn't heard before, and he could hear Tony laughing in his ear about it.

He squatted down so that Slayter wouldn't have to tug at his pants and tilt back so far that his head looked like it might fall off his shoulders.

"What does your plane need? The landing gear is stuck, huh? Let me see…" Steve took the cheap plastic toy from the kid. A tab inside the molded body was bent in the wrong position and Steve popped it right again with his fingernail. He wiggled the landing gear and Slayter jumped up and down and held his hand out.

Steve gave him his toy back.

"Yay! Steve-America saves the day. Everybody, we can go home!" Slayter yelled exuberantly to nobody in particular.

The hall was cleared of tables and chairs now, so the boy flew his plane high while running through the large empty space. He brought his arm lower and lower, then he did a perfect ballpark skid across the floor and landed his airplane.

"Everybody's safe. We fixed the landing gear!" Slayter cheered to himself.

Steve could hear him mumbling about emergency ladders and evacuating the passengers.

"I'm sorry if he's a bother. I couldn't get him to sit still during bingo," the mom came over and apologized.

"Of course not. His plane couldn't land. Had to keep flying," Steve pointed out.

He watched the kid with a wistfulness that was getting harder to ignore. Slayter said something about a fuel truck and made explosion noises. His newly fixed plane went flying through the air and hit the floor twenty feet away. Steve chuckled.

"Don't let him fool you. He knows how to fix the landing gear. He just wanted an excuse to talk to you," the young woman said.

"It's alright. Hey, I'm Steve," he said.

He held out his hand to her and looked down at the baby in the padded carrier.

"Hi, Steve. I think everybody knows who you are. I'm Krista. And this is Emily," she said.

Krista shook his hand, then held up the baby for him to see.

The carrier looked heavy for her, so Steve automatically took it, as he would help a lady with her bag. Then he realized that he'd just taken someone's kid. To play through the awkward moment, he lifted the carrier up to see the child. The baby girl, Emily, looked at him with wide, dark eyes. Her bottom lip was fat and slobbery and it started to tremble as she determined that Steve was certainly not her mama.

"Whoa. Here ya go," Steve handed the child back to her mother.

Krista laughed at him gently, and her laughing at his awkwardness make him feel like a person rather than a national icon. Little Emily was crying softly at the fright of being stared at by a strange man, but Krista calmed her.

"Slayter, get your airplane. It's late and we have to go home," Krista called to her son.

Another little boy had come over to play with him, and he ignored his mother.

"Slayter," Steve called.

The boy's head twisted around real quick. He popped up and ran over to them, looking hopefully at Steve. Krista grabbed his hand before he could get away again. With the baby carrier tucked in the bend of her arm, she turned to go. Slayter frowned at Steve, disappointed that his hero had betrayed him by calling him over so his mom could catch him.

"Thanks, Steve," Krista told him.

Steve pulled on his cheery smile and completely ignored the twinkle in her eyes. He'd found that if he acted like he was clueless about what that look meant, women didn't seem to get offended. They might think he was an oaf and a virgin, but that was for the best. One time, he'd made the mistake of defending his manhood to a woman who told him he was gay because he didn't act interested in her offer. He'd never do that again.

After he was done chatting with the guys who turned off the lights and locked up the church hall for the evening, Buck was waiting for him in the parking lot. People were still visiting between cars, and others were walking home in groups or to the bus stop on the corner.

"I hope you can make it Saturday," Bill Dunn called out to him in parting.

"Me too. You know how it is. I'll be here if I can," Steve answered.

Buck watched the chummy exchange only in passing. He felt that he was on duty, so he kept his gaze moving around the parking lot. Steve didn't want to see that look just yet. It was too much like work. He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and ambled toward where Bucky leaned at the corner of the building.

Occasionally, somebody leaving in their car would wave at him and he would lift a hand to wave back. He liked seeing the families and the old folks happy and headed home. Nobody was standing around gawking at him or trying to get his autograph. Nobody was running away from danger screaming. There was no blood, no awkwardness, no cameras. Just good folks going home to get cozy. Like he was about to do.

The smile faded from his face as he approached Buck. Not that he wasn't happy to see his friend. He was. Every time he looked at him, he still could hardly believe that Bucky was back at his side again. He was a lot darker in spirit, and he got too still sometimes, but it was Buck alright. The more time that passed, the easier the memories came, and the more he had his old friend back. He was damn proud of Buck's mental resilience, and that he could recover from decades of mind-bending and torture with barely more than a stiff face and a few nightmares to show for it.

"Done here?" Buck rasped at him.

"Yeah, but I wanna go the long way home. Mrs. Janis is walking alone again. I think we should hang back and follow, just in case," Steve nodded his head to the edge of the church property, where an elderly lady was walking off down the sidewalk briskly, her head high as if nothing would dare bother her in the dark on a relatively deserted street.

Buck shoved away from the building and they started after the lady.

"Some people get pets, you know. You hafta adopt a whole church parish," Bucky grumbled.

"Eh, shaddup. You like it. I know you do. They bring you carrot cake," Steve teased him.

Buck shrugged and they kept walking. Mrs. Janis was pretty fast for an old dame, so it was good that they had long legs. They could still make their stroll appear casual if she happened to look back at them. Mrs. Janis never looked back, though.

"You still believe in that shit? Or do you go there just for the people?"

"Buck," Steve said in a low, warning tone.

"What? Don't give me that look, as if I'm the one being unreasonable. How can you still believe after all we've seen? After all we've been through?"

"I still believe, _especially_ because of all that's happened. You should know better than anyone that some people choose evil. And everybody else has to suffer the consequences. We can't have free will without that. The bad things aren't God's fault. And if he stopped every bad thing from happening, we'd all be nothing more than puppets. Blaming stuff on God is simplistic thinking. People hafta be free to choose, and then things get complicated," Steve said.

"Hah! What about aliens, then? What about Thor, and all of the realms? Where's that in the holy books?" Buck continued to question him.

"Bucky, you know better than that. Or, you used to. It's not all about a book. An owner's manual doesn't tell you everything there is to know about a car, or how to drive it, or all the places you could go. Just because things exist that aren't in the bible doesn't invalidate it. Come on, you don't throw out all the biology books just because you find out that astronomy exists, too. Back when the scriptures were written, maybe humanity didn't need to know about aliens and other realms," Steve explained his viewpoint.

Buck grunted, but walked on in silence for a while. Mrs. Janis turned on a prissy heel and walked up the steps to her house. Steve and Bucky hung back in the shadows until they saw her safely inside. Then they walked a more direct route back to the tower. Some people stared at Steve every now and then as they got to the busier blocks, but he didn't slow down to talk. Bucky stayed hunkered down into his hat and coat and nobody stared at him.

"Smartass," Buck finally said.

"Hey, I get enough of this crap from Tony. I know you've been through it, Buck. You have a right to your own perspective, and I have a right to mine. I don't try to make you sore about how you believe, so return the favor, huh?" Steve suggested as mildly as he could.

They made their way through heavier foot traffic, but Steve didn't mistake Buck's shoulder colliding with his as an accident. James Barnes almost never did anything physical on accident. The pseudo-accidental shoulder bump was Buck's way of accepting his request for peace on the subject. It was his way of telling him he was alright with where they'd left things, even though he might not agree with Steve's viewpoint.

Decades ago, they'd have argued loudly about anything they disagreed on just for the fun of it. They'd have kept arguing louder and louder until somebody opened a window and hollered at them to shut up. Then they'd both laugh and change the subject to talk about girls or about what kind of car they were gonna get when they had money. Now that they both had money and more women available than they wanted, there was silence when they agreed to drop an argument. It was comfortable.

Tony was a devout atheist, and he didn't know when to let the subject go when he got into it with Steve. So Steve appreciated that Buck could let the peace settle between them as they approached home.

"Do you hear how those good Catholic women talk about you when they think nobody's listening?" Buck asked as they entered the lobby of Avengers tower.

"I try not to listen," Steve said with a barely concealed smile.

"Bullshit. You love it," Buck said as they got into the elevator.

They took their comms out of their ears and turned them off. They never expected privacy because Jarvis was everywhere. The AI was in the street around them, in the elevator, in their bedrooms, and in the airspace over half the city, more than that when needed.

Steve folded his arms across his chest and smiled silently while the elevator took them up almost a thousand feet. He didn't need to say anything. Buck, more than anyone, understood what things meant to him.

Back in the day, women only ever talked about him in one way, and it wasn't flattering. Steve had never heard what they said, but the scorn or worse, the pity, was there in their eyes as they talked. He didn't have to hear their words to know the nature of their thoughts. He was glad his hearing had been awful then, with his sinuses and head clogged up most of the time. It had been tough enough to keep his chin up without overhearing every unkind word.

It had taken Steve a long time to get used to the attention that came with his improved body. He was starting to get a handle on it just as he'd gone down into the ice. Now, with a few more years under him, Steve didn't blush so much when he saw raw lust in their eyes. Or plain, natural want. Or innocent smiles and giggles. It still got to him, but he had a mental trick to let it wash over him without making his skin heat up. Most of the time, he couldn't keep a smile off his face, though.

Bucky saw right through him. His friend knew what that kind of attention used to do to him, so he set his jaw just so and dared Steve to look away and ignore him. It was kinda like that bar in Italy with the wild dancing. Buck liked to challenge him, since he was big enough to be up to it now.

"You gonna do anything about it?"

"C'mon, Buck. They're nice ladies. They don't mean anything by it. They're just lettin off steam and they think they're keeping it to themselves. Most of them are married. I can't fool around there," Steve said while the elevator went up to where Tony and Thor and Jane were.

"Heh. Steam. Yeah," Buck chuckled.

Steve shoved at Bucky for the crude allusion. He momentarily forgot about Buck's arm. Faster than the eye could see, Buck shoved him back, hard. Steve's back bounced off the wall of the elevator, and then it was too late to back down. By the time the elevator opened to the foyer of the living room, Tony was yelling at them.

"Hey! Hey! No super-soldier horseplay in the elevator. It's hard to fix. It still makes a grinding sound from last time," Tony called out.

Buck almost had Steve in a head lock, and Steve cursed because he heard someone's clothes rip. With an asshole move he would only use on Bucky or on someone he truly wanted to maim, Steve got loose and out of the elevator. Buck leaned against the wall and glared at Steve until Tony came over to inspect the damage.

"Goddamnit, that's Brazilian teak, and you splintered it again, Rogers," Tony complained when he looked into the elevator.

"You should quit buying rainforest wood, Tony. You can't be sure where it's sourced from. There's nothing wrong with good American maple," Steve said.

"You were more entertaining before you read half the internet. Do you know that you've got a rip in your pants?" Tony told him.

Buck limped out of the elevator massaging the inside of his thigh with both hands.

"I liked him better when he couldn't hit so hard," Buck complained.

"Yeah, Mister Steve-America. Why do you wanna beat up on your friends? Your churchy people would be ashamed of you. Shocked, even!" Tony teased.

"You don't know them. They'd set up chairs all around and sell tickets for charity," Steve said from the kitchen.

"You wanna do that?" Buck asked seriously.

Steve stopped digging for food in the fridge and stared at Bucky. It made his head hurt sometimes, how Buck was so disparaging of anything religious, yet he was right there with Steve if the roof of the KC hall needed patching, or if the sisters needed something heavy moved. It gave Steve hope that there was still some devotion hiding under all the hurt and surliness. And Buck was sincere. One word from Steve, and he'd be willing to go all out with him in a ring, if it would sell tickets for the orphanage improvements.

"No, I don't wanna do that," Steve said.

He turned back to rummage in the refrigerator for sandwich makings.

An ominous silence came from Tony. The skin prickled along Steve's back and neck. He could _feel_ Tony and Buck thinking.

"No," Steve firmly told them again.

He grabbed the olives and the provolone and the fancy mustard. When he turned to set his haul on the countertop, Tony and Bucky were in a daze of thought. Thor joined them at the bar, grinning. Jane smirked at them and shook her head. She shrugged at Steve in apology. She'd worked in the science department for long enough to know that when Tony got a wild idea, it was best to let it burn itself out without feeding it. It was better if Thor didn't see the need to add his exuberance, so Jane stayed quiet and neutral. Steve was thankful.

"This could be HUGE! I'll make a dedicated pay-per-view channel on one of my satellites so there's no hacking. No freebies. We can ad-campaign the hell out of it. 'Russia's Sinister Cyborg vs. America's golden boy'. No shirts. I'll double my media holdings! How long can you guys make it last?" Tony babbled.

"Probably for a few hours if we're careful. And it would be for charity, Tony. Strictly non-profit. But, no. We're not doing this," Steve shook his head as he toasted bread and laid out the layers of meat and cheese he wanted to use.

"But it's for charity, Stevie. Think of the poor orphans. The nuns would be so proud of you," Buck taunted with a gleam in his eyes.

"The sisters would tan my hide with a belt for putting on a televised skin show," Steve denied.

Tony stopped dithering excitedly with some little thing in his hands and Steve could almost hear the gears in his brain stall and re-engage in another direction. His hands went still and he looked up at Steve and Bucky.

"Anthony. Don't you say it," Steve warned.

He set the mustard jar down almost hard enough to break it.

Jane giggled.

Tony's face was flushed with delighted shock. He was so enthralled, he was momentarily speechless.

"But I have to… It's too good," Tony squeaked out eventually, high and tight like a balloon squealing under pressure.

"None of us are slow. In the several seconds you've been standing there hyperventilating, we all imagined it," Steve told him.

He'd found that if he tried to make something seem boring, Tony sometimes would let it drop. Not this time.

"I'm not even into men much, and I'm sure as hell not into you, Captain Grannypants, but this is _so_ good. Strip you down, chain you up, add nuns and some leather…" Tony breathed.

"Have fun with that in your head, because it's not happening anywhere else," Steve said in as bored a tone as he could muster.

He took his sandwich into the living room and sprawled on the couch. Buck spun on his stool to look from Steve to Tony and back again. When it came to contests of will, the two of them could get pretty entertaining. Steve shook his head at Buck while he chewed his food and Buck deflated somewhat in his eagerness about the pay fight.

He knew that when Steve quit arguing and got that particular set to his chin, the debate was over with. Tony could plan and make proposals all he liked, but no way was Steve Rogers gonna put on a show for anybody. Not if the nuns would disapprove.

The corner of Buck's mouth quirked just a little. What if he could pitch the idea directly to the mother superior of the convent? If he worded it just right, and mentioned how nice it would be to get new insulation in the walls of the orphanage, and better windows, maybe…

Steve's eyes narrowed at him while he ate.

"You know you can't make me fight if I don't want to, Buck. I won't do it," Steve said.

Bucky's shoulders slumped.

Tony sighed and shook his head mournfully.

"It was a beautiful dream," he said.

"Then keep dreaming'," Steve told him.

It was a good sandwich, but what he really wanted was juicy, smoky barbecue, falling off the bone. With Earl Rutherford's homemade barbecue sauce. The pork ribs would have a little black char on them here and there, and the chicken skin would be crispy in places that the sauce burned off. His mouth watered just thinking about it, and his perfect memory recalled the smell of the hickory pit smoke.

Steve finished his sandwich, which now tasted fairly bland by comparison. He hoped Friday night and Saturday would stay peaceful.


	2. Chapter 2

**Note: Once again, boring and Catholic. Some folks find that comforting.**

* * *

Things were iffy Friday evening, but he was going anyway. He planned to eat a ridiculous amount, so he didn't want the guys to do all the work themselves. He had his comm and he'd already loaded the rest of his gear into the jet, just in case.

Some arguing with Buck won him the freedom to go without an escort, as long as he had his comm in. Steve was firm in telling everyone at the tower that he didn't want anybody wasting their time watching out for him except Jarvis. Jarvis didn't get bored, and he didn't mind monitoring one extra region of the city.

Steve stopped by a corner store on his way to the church hall to get some beer. He brought beer to add to the refrigerator because the other guys would be drinking it and he didn't want to look like a prig by abstaining, nor did he want to have to explain that it did nothing for him. It was easier to just drink the beer. It was a good thing he enjoyed the flavor.

When he got to the parking lot at Saint Gertrude's, around back of the church itself where the hall was, there were already four cars there. Doug Young was unloading wood from his truck, and Earl was scrubbing the large pit with a wire brush.

"Hey, Steve-o! Glad you could make it," Doug greeted him.

"Me too. I'll get back out and help you unload in a second," Steve answered him.

"Not if you go in there, you won't. They're arguing over who had the worst food while deployed," Earl warned.

"Aw, I gotta get a piece of that," Steve agreed.

Earl and Doug smiled and waved him on.

Steve hurried inside the steel door, which was propped open to let the cool outside air ventilate the kitchen. He could already hear the guys trying to one-up each other about their rations. They'd just switched from the awfulness of MREs over the various combat zones everyone had been deployed in over the years, and then Bob went where it always went.

"Yeah, but did you have to eat dog?"

Steve made a face and hurried to put his beer in the fridge. He grabbed one and joined the men in the middle of the industrial kitchen who were rinsing pans and utensils to prepare for the night's cooking.

They all nodded at him in greeting and made room for him in their loose circle around the kitchen.

"I had Alpaca once, in El Salvador. It wasn't too bad," Jimmy told them.

Jimmy was one of the younger men, and Steve could easily place their conflict by their age. One of the first things Steve had done after thawing out was update himself on the military engagements he'd missed.

"Horse in France," Steve added.

"I hear horse isn't bad either," Stan agreed.

Stan was nearly as old as Steve, but he hadn't quite been old enough for the draft.

"Depends on who cooks it. It was France, so…" Steve drank his beer, then quickly set it down when Jimmy handed him a large pan and a rag to dry it with.

"So, what does that mean? Did your company char it over a fire in the middle of nowhere, or was some fancy chef making do?" Jimmy wondered.

"I think there was a chef, but supplies were low. It was alright. I was so hungry that anything would have been alright," Steve said.

"Scorpion," Butch Crenshaw said.

He was another young guy, not yet forty.

Steve clapped him on the shoulder in commiseration.

"Better you than me, man. I hate eating bugs," Steve finished drying the pan and Butch took it to start putting the meat in to marinate.

"Ain't no way to make bugs taste good," Butch agreed.

The comm in his ear was silent, but Steve could almost hear Tony's voice in his head telling him that actually, a scorpion was an arachnid, not a bug. Steve kept his mouth shut and dried the next pan they handed him. He had time to drink his beer between the things they passed him to dry.

Earl came in and started chopping onions and fresh herbs in the corner of the countertop with his back turned to everyone. They knew not to look over Earl's shoulder while he was making his sauce, or he'd stop making it.

Steve washed his hands and helped carry the large ice chests from the cars outside into the kitchen.

"That looks nice," he said when everybody started adding chicken and pork to the marinade pans.

They talked about the prices of meat at markets around the city for a while, and whether buying the free range grass-fed stuff was worth it. Then the conversation moved on to hunting and who had a lease outside the city.

Steve listened in happy fascination. It all sounded blissfully domestic to him. He was sure that hunting and grilling meat was considered very manly to them. He was glad to absorb their knowledge, and the nearly visual descriptions of where some of them hunted or fished when they had time off to get away. Steve wasn't the only one who didn't have much to say about hunting and fishing. Jimmy and Butch stayed quiet and listened too.

The large, deep pans of meat went into the industrial refrigerators to sit a while and most everyone went outside to see how Doug was coming along with the pit.

"I told ya you'd get stuck in there," Doug told Steve with good humor.

"You were right," Steve agreed.

Earl was still inside getting his barbecue sauce on to simmer, and he preferred to be alone with it in there anyway.

Somebody opened the back door to the hall and they all passed out chairs to sit in the back parking lot around the large barrel pit. Steve and Butch got more beer for everyone, and they settled in a loose half circle under the parking lot light. The early evening was cool enough that there were no bugs flying around, but not so bad that they had to bundle up.

Steve stood nearby and watched as Doug banged the expanded steel grills up and latched them open and started loading chunks of wood into the bottom of the long barbecue pit. He passed wood to Doug and enjoyed the smell as the fire got going. It would take a few hours and a lot of wood to get a decent enough bed of coals to start cooking.

"You act like this is something," Doug observed casually.

Steve was quiet for a moment while he thought. He didn't like to overdo things. It wasn't a drama competition, so he tended to play things down when he was spending time with these ordinary men. He even dressed how they did tonight, in jeans and comfortable shoes and an old T-shirt with a thick flannel shirt over it.

"It is something. I didn't get this growing up, and then I was too busy, and then I was gone, and now I'm back again, and all I ever get is sandwiches, restaurants and take-out. So yeah, it's something," Steve said.

He failed to notice that the guys talking behind him went kind of quiet.

"You mean nobody cooks for you guys in the tower?" Stan asked.

"Sometimes Tony has somebody come in when he wants something particular, but no, there's nobody to cook all the time. We have sort of an intern, more of a friend really, Darcy. She cooks when she feels like it and it's great, but that's maybe once a week, and usually its breakfast food," Steve told them.

"So you don't got anybody like somebody's mom or wife or a grandma around there?" Butch asked, incredulous.

Steve paused slightly while his mind ran ahead with strategy.

"Not really, but we don't want that. The tower's been a target before and none of us wants our ma or our wife to hang around any more than they have to. There's employees during the day, but we like people to go home at night. Tony had originally set aside several floors for residence leases, but that's not a good idea anymore," Steve explained.

"Oh. That's tough. I didn't know it was that much a war zone over thata way," Jimmy said, and he nodded his head in the direction of Avenger's tower.

"It's not. We can relax most of the time. But when something does go wrong, it goes bad wrong. We've had lab explosions and some of Tony's equipment tests get interesting. Who wants their ma in that?" Steve shrugged and smiled.

"Yeah. And _Aliens_. That's pretty bad wrong," Stan agreed.

"To hell with the aliens. They ain't got nobody to cook for em' while they fight all the nasties. That's not right," Butch said.

Steve tipped up his beer, then tossed it across the way at the trash can that was propping the back door open. The bottle went neatly into the can and didn't break against any of the other bottles which were already in there. Steve had banked the bottle against the rubber side so it wouldn't break before it hit bottom.

The men stared at Steve in amazement. The trash can was pretty far away, and none of them would have been able to toss a bottle in at that distance, much less bank it off the side to keep it from breaking. Steve shrugged and tried to play it off as normal, but he knew he'd screwed up. He'd reminded them that he was different, and now they were giving him that look that he got pretty frequently. It was like the simple action of disposing of his beer bottle had made them remember that he wasn't just one of the guys.

He waited for conversation to pick back up again, but it didn't. Doug started to say something, thought better of it, then minded his business with the fire. Dammit. For the first time of the evening, Steve was feeling the weight of being the Captain. He'd been hoping he could avoid that and just be one of the guys tonight. But now he had to manage people.

Steve turned away from watching Doug and the cheerful orange flames inside the pit. He went to sit in one of the empty chairs among the men. They noticed Steve's squared up, business like posture and the stern set to his jaw. It was not how he usually carried himself among these people.

"I know I'm different. I don't blame you for staring when I forget and do something stupid like that. What bothers me is that people seem to think I'm not quite human. It gets old, not fitting in no matter where I go, ya know? So I want you to go ahead and ask me anything. Let's kill the mystery so maybe people will quit giving me _that look_ ," Steve told them decisively.

"Whoa. No need to get all hard about it, man. We can talk about something else," Bob said, and not one of them took his words as sexual innuendo. Steve had visibly hardened, into the persona he needed to be to satisfy their curiosity.

"No. Get it over with. I'm not upset, but I know that people must wonder about things and it keeps a distance around me. So, ask me what everybody wants to know, and then everybody can hear it through the grapevine, and maybe I'll stop getting that _look_ , and people will stop going quiet when I walk into a room. It's been three years I've been coming around here, and people still don't seem to know me well enough to relax. So ask," Steve said his final words calm and firm, like an order.

He lifted his attention toward the street when he heard footsteps approaching. It was Father Ken. Steve got up during the stiff silence and grabbed another chair for the priest. He unfolded it and clumped it down among them.

"Hey, Father. Come on and join us," Steve said, once again, somewhat like an order.

"Is everything alright?" Father Ken asked.

The priest knew people well enough to see that the slightly wide-eyed faces of the men sitting around the big pit weren't the norm. Steve's movements as he'd waved him over, placed the chair and sat back down weren't his usual casual manner.

"It's fine. I was just telling the fellas that they ought to ask me whatever they wanted. Mystery and rumor have a way of keeping people apart, ya know?" Steve said.

"I do know. So, I'll go first. Thanks," Father Ken said as Stan passed him a beer.

He twisted off the top and sat down in the chair across from Steve.

"Do you sleep? How much do you sleep?" Father Ken asked.

"I sleep most nights. About three hours. That's all I need. Sometimes I don't, and I stay up thinking, or reading, or training," Steve told them.

He kept his words sharp and factual, as if he was debriefing. He sort of was, for these people's benefit.

"At bingo the other night, you tensed up for a bit. What was that about?" Bob asked.

"I don't know. I didn't bother to ask Tony. He told me to standby and then whatever it was turned out to not be a problem. It was probably an unmarked vehicle with invalid plates nearby or a flight aberration in close airspace," Steve said honestly.

"So everywhere you go, you got somebody watching all around you?" Butch wondered.

"Right. Not so much to keep me safe, but more to make sure nothing happens here. There's some twisted minds out there," Steve said.

"Ain't that the truth," Doug agreed.

"You don't sleep much, but you eat a lot. Every time you're around, you drink like a fish, but-" Stan mentioned.

"Alcohol has no effect on me. I like beer, so it's not a waste. The only thing that ever does anything for me is some kind of mead that Thor brings from Asgard," Steve said.

"Is that for real? This Thor guy, and Asgard? Odin and all of that? They're really from somewhere else?" Bob wondered.

Bob looked to Father Ken with a moment of concern, when the implications of it all became apparent.

"He's just as real as you are. He loves pizza and pop tarts, and I've been to Asgard. Odin is pretty impressive, but he's no more a god than Thor is. He doesn't call himself a god. He never has. People a few centuries ago were simpler and when they didn't understand something powerful, they called it a god. He's a nice guy. Thor is, I mean. I don't know about Odin. He was kind of standoffish," Steve told them.

"But what does he think about the real God?" Earl asked. He'd come outside when nobody was looking.

"I don't know. I never asked him. I probably will, now that you brought it to my attention," Steve said.

"So Thor is hundreds of years old?" Jimmy asked.

"He had his thousandth birthday a few years ago. And now you've got me thinking. I never asked him if a year here is the same as a year on Asgard. Fellas, I understand being curious about Thor, but that's not helping any. I want you to get to know me so everybody will quit looking at me funny," Steve said.

"Right. Sorry. Aren't you really strong?" Stan asked.

"Yes," Steve said simply.

"And you heal better and faster than us?" Father Ken asked.

"I do," Steve answered.

"So what's the worst you've ever been hurt?" Earl asked.

"Burned and crushed. They told me it wasn't pretty, and it felt even worse. A wall fell on me during the war. The ice was bad, but the cold made me numb after a while, so being crushed and burnt was worse," Steve said.

"But haven't you been shot? I heard that in DC-"

"I've been shot a lot. I'd have to look in the medical files to see how many times. For me, most bullets just make holes. They hurt. They bleed for a little while. It's still bad if I get hit center mass. Gut shot is pretty miserable too. The crushing and burning was worse," Steve said.

"Are there a lot of women?" Father Ken asked.

The men went silent in surprise, and Father smiled at them and shrugged.

"Tons. Everywhere. All the time. But I don't go with any of 'em. I have to be really careful and that's all I'll say to that," Steve said tersely.

This subject was right on the border of what he would talk about.

"But why? I mean I know it's not right, but you…" Butch waved a hand at him.

"Because I have to be careful," Steve repeated.

"Okay, okay, sorry. I hear ya, but you're capable an all, right?" Butch persisted.

"I'm capable," Steve said even more briefly.

"What about PTSD? You've been through a lot. And you're still living in it, if the tower is so dangerous that you don't even let employees stay overnight. How do you handle that?" Bob asked with a good deal more sympathy than the other questions.

"I'm fine, and I'm not just saying that. I've seen a lot of PTSD. I know the symptoms. I pass psyche evaluations regularly. It's not that things don't bother me. They do. I think it has to do with my ability to heal. I start to get down about something, or a memory triggers me, but I snap out of it. Sometimes I resent that. I wonder if maybe I'm missing some things I should be feeling," Steve told them.

He'd only mentioned that to a therapist and to Tony, so far. Now these guys knew.

"Go figure. You still get angry sometimes?" Butch wondered.

"All the time. Rage. Sorrow. Happiness. All of it. But it's like there's a pendulum, and I keep swinging back to the middle," Steve said.

"That's good, I guess. It'd be really bad if you lost it," Jimmy said.

Steve chuckled.

"Yeah, it probably would," he agreed.

"Do you enjoy what you do?" Father Ken asked.

"Most of the time, yes. There are things and people out there that need to be stopped, and I'm glad to be able to stop them, usually. We've had some failures, but we manage that, too. There's always another day to go out and try again," Steve said.

"That sounds nice, Steve, but that's not what I meant. Do you enjoy the violence, the adrenaline?" Father persisted.

The men all looked to Steve when they were done gawking at Father Ken for asking such a personal question. Steve grinned at their surprise. Sometimes they forgot that their priest had served active duty among rough men. Steve respected him for being straightforward with his curiosity.

"Is this a confession?" Steve teased, "Because there's a lot I could say about that."

"No. I'm just wondering. About the action. I hear it can be addictive. Are you addicted?" Father persisted.

"Shit, padre, maybe you should back off a little," Butch mumbled uncomfortably, then took a long drink from his beer.

"I don't know if it's possible for me to be addicted to anything. The healing, remember? But if I could be, then yeah, maybe. It's a rush. I'd miss it if I couldn't do it anymore. It's not an issue, though, because sometimes I get more of it than I want. There's enough conflict in my life that I seek out things like this to balance it. Does that answer your question?" Steve told Father Ken.

"I think so. Thank you," the priest said.

"Hey, are you saying that we're boring?" Doug asked.

"It's a _good_ kind of boring. If I didn't like it, I wouldn't be here. I need this. I need something normal. Living at the tower… It's different. Different from when I was growing up over the bridge. Different than being deployed. Different than a workaday job. It's surreal sometimes. Things happen there that don't happen anywhere else," Steve said.

"Like what?" Jimmy wondered.

"Those are the things I won't tell you about. If it gets too wild, I put a stop to it, but I'll say that the people I work with have me believing that almost anything is possible. The only thing big enough to hold all the possibilities is the infinity of God," Steve said.

"Amen," Father Ken agreed.

"So you got the healing and you're strong. Are there any drawbacks?" Bob wanted to know.

"Like anybody else, I have limits to what I can do, but it wouldn't be wise to go around telling what those are. The biggest drawback I can see is that people treat me more different than I think I am. I'm used to it in the street or at a restaurant or a charity event, but it makes it hard to fit in with people where I spend more time. Like here," Steve told them.

"People are going to be amazed, and they're going to treat you differently. You're a celebrity," Father Ken pointed out.

"No, I'm not. I'm a soldier. I only wanted to serve, like my dad. I didn't do this to myself to be a celebrity," Steve told them.

He shrugged and looked down at his body to indicate what he meant.

"Hmmph. I never thought of it like that. Tony Stark does the celebrity thing, and maybe you get dragged in by association. And you're in the news sometimes. But it's not like you're one of those Kardashian women," Jimmy said.

"Thank God for that," Steve agreed.

"I'm sorry, Steve. I don't mean to make you feel out of place," Butch said.

"Me neither," Doug added.

The guys all nodded their agreement.

"There's no point in trying to pretend that I'm not different. But I'm a lot like you guys, too. Or, I want to be. I'd hoped that the novelty would wear off, ya know? I'd hoped that with time, people would get used to me and that I could relax and try to find out who I am outside of work," Steve told them.

"That I can understand. It's hard to clock out from the job sometimes. I mean, some parts of you, you can't stop being. But you don't gotta be on duty all the time," Butch said.

"That's what I'm talkin about," Steve said.

Everybody was quiet for a beat too long. They'd asked a lot, and they'd heard a lot, and nobody really knew where to go from there. Steve was wondering if he'd said too much, if answering their curiosities would put more distance between them rather than bring understanding like he'd hoped. It didn't feel like that. The guys were quiet again, but it felt right.

"Meat," Earl said.

"The fire!" Doug agreed.

They all got up to tend to the barbecue preparations, except Father Ken, who opened the church for Friday night adoration. The men in charge of the barbecue went back inside the kitchen and Doug got the fire in the pit going again.

Steve was relieved when they shook off the tenseness of the previous conversation and Paul Brenham started showing him how to make his father's baked beans.

"You're gonna be sorry when I tell my wife that there's nobody to cook for you in the tower," Butch said.

"I know," Steve replied.

Earl hovered near his covered pot of sauce which was simmering on low over the big gas range. Paul showed him what spices went in the beans, and Jimmy handed him another beer.

"Who's the guy who hangs around outside when you're here? Why didn't you bring him tonight?" Stan asked loudly from where he was setting up cots for them to sleep on in the church hall.

"That's my friend, James. We grew up together," Steve said.

"James Barnes? I thought we lost him," Stan asked.

Of any of them, Stan was old enough to know about Bucky.

"I thought so too, but then I found him. He found me, really," Steve said.

"That guy with the hair and the raggedy coat is Bucky Barnes?" Stan quit what he was doing in the hall and came into the kitchen.

"Yeah," Steve said.

He was stirring a huge pot of beans, but he gave Stan his attention. The other guys didn't understand enough of the past to get the significance of it.

"He's not old enough," Stan said.

"He's a little older than I am," Steve said.

He gave Stan a level, calm look.

"Alright. Old guys lookin young. If you find any more of that, pass it my way, ya hear?" Stan teased lightly. He'd picked up on Steve's unwillingness to say more about Buck, and he was backing off of the subject respectfully.

"It's like I said, Stan. Almost anything is possible," Steve told him.

Jimmy snored, and Earl and Doug kept getting up to check the fire and the meat. Steve gave up trying to sleep and he lay in the almost dark on his cot in the large empty space of the church hall. It was five thirty in the morning and the meat was smelling good. They had to cook enough to make six hundred plates for the fundraiser.

There were two big pots of baked beans on the kitchen stove, and the ladies would be coming in around nine with the potato salad and the desserts. Steve's mouth was steady watering. He was here for the meat, but the desserts were just as good.

One advantage of being here during the cooking was that they had to 'sample' things to make sure it was done right. Steve was eager to help with that. It was a kind of torture. He and Doug and Earl would pull a chicken quarter off the grill and take it apart with forks to see if it was done. So, Steve was getting little bits of grilled meat, when he really wanted to eat at least four chicken quarters all by himself.

He pulled his well-used sneakers back on and went outside in the morning fog. Doug looked somewhat bleary-eyed, but Earl didn't look any meaner or any nicer. Steve ambled over to them. He could tell by the smell that the pork was on now. His mouth watered even harder, to the point that he had to swallow.

"You get your three hours?" Doug asked.

"No, but I'll be fine. Gosh, that smells great. You don't need to advertise. You'll have the whole neighborhood hungry," Steve said.

There were two large ice chests already filled with steaming hot barbecued chicken, and two more were clean and empty, waiting for the pork. Steve was tempted to go help himself to the chicken, or at least to lift the lid and look at it in all its glory, but they had to keep the lids closed to keep it hot.

"We never have a plate left over at the end of the day," Earl agreed.

Steve was about to say something else to them when the comm in his ear crackled. He looked at Earl and Doug and the pit and the ice chests. Then he tapped the comm more fully into his ear and stepped aside so he wouldn't be speaking rudely in front of the guys while excluding them.

"Rogers," Steve prompted whoever was on the other end of the communication.

"I'm sorry, Cap, but we gotta go. Can you be back at the tower in five, or should we pick you up on the way?" Natasha asked tersely.

He could hear the familiar sounds of the Avengers preparing to launch in the background of the call. Bruce was arguing with Tony about something, and Clint yelled at them both to shut up.

"I'll come back. See you in five," he told her.

"You have to leave?" Doug asked as Steve turned back to them to say goodbye.

"Yeah. It's a local thing, so I hope to be back today. Please, save me a plate. No, save me two," Steve said.

He pulled out his wallet and handed Earl a twenty. Earl looked like he didn't want to take his money.

" _Please_. I don't have time to argue," Steve said.

He was already turning to run off.

"Don't worry about the food. I'll save you plenty," Earl assured.

Steve waved back at them and he ran off as fast as he could. He didn't have time to take the long way around, so he jumped the fence and headed straight for the tower. It took a minute and a half to get from the ground floor of Avengers tower to the jet bay, and he had a lot of blocks to cover.

"Will ya look at that? I don't think he even touched the fence. Just went right over. Hey! He didn't even eat breakfast. Sharon is bringing it in a half hour," Doug lamented.

"I tell ya, Steve doesn't eat enough. He's gonna run out of steam someday," Earl said.

* * *

Steve looked down at his uniform. It was mostly clean. They'd been fighting heavily armored Hydra agents, and things tended to be more blunt force than bloody when their enemy combatants were so well equipped. He had an oil stain across his thigh, but it wasn't too offensive.

"Do I have anything on my face?" he asked Buck.

"Why? You got a date after this?" Buck snarked, but he looked Steve over as he'd been asked to.

"Yeah. A date with a plate. Or maybe two. Yeah, it's a double. I could eat," Steve rubbed his belly over the snug panels that protected his abdomen.

"You're mostly clean. Except- here," Buck pulled a rag from a maintenance cubby of the jet and swiped at something smeared on Steve's temple.

"Thanks. Buck, you gotta come get some of this food. It smelled so good. I hope it's not too late," Steve fretted and looked at the chronometer in the jet's console.

"I know well the aroma of roasted meat, but you speak as if this feast of the Knights is something beyond the ordinary," Thor remarked.

"You should come too. You'll see," Steve told Thor.

"You're not going to invite me? I'm hurt," Tony said.

"Sure you can come. But I didn't think you'd want to be seen slumming at a church," Steve replied.

"There's that. Bring me some?" Tony asked.

Bruce looked on hopefully. Clint made a sound. Natasha frowned back at him from the pilot seat.

"Alright, I'll bring some for everyone if they have any left, but you're gonna have to send a car," Steve said and looked to Tony.

"Then you better get some for Happy and Pepper, too," Tony said.

"I will. I hope they're not sold out. It was supposed to be over at two," Steve said.

"Can we drop you in the parking lot?" Nat asked.

"I'm counting on it. It would take too long to go home and change and go back," Steve said.

"Alright. ETA in eight minutes," Clint said.

Steve dug in his civilian clothes which were in a pile where he had changed into his Captain America uniform earlier. He got out his wallet and his phone. He thumbed through his contacts until he found the number he needed. He dialed and waited impatiently. Buck laughed at him for acting like such a kid, and Steve shoved him gently this time.

"Hi, Father. It's Steve. I just got off. Is there any food left?" Steve asked hopefully.

They could hear the man on the other end of the call sounding apologetic.

"Oh," Steve said, crestfallen.

Then, there was a hasty response and laughter on the other end.

"Father! You're a rotten punk. Is it okay if I come in my work clothes and bring a few friends?" Steve asked.

There was an answer in the affirmative.

"We'll be dropping in in about five, then. Hey, it might get kinda windy in the parking lot for a few seconds. Thanks for saving me some, but ya didn't hafta make me worry like that," Steve groused.

There was more laughter on the other end, but Steve was smiling when he ended the call.

"Your father sounds jolly," Thor remarked with a smile.

"He's real jolly when he can find a prank to use. His name is Ken. 'Father' is what we call our priests," Steve explained.

"We're not dressed for this shindig," Bucky grumbled.

He was in his black leather and his left arm was completely exposed. Steve looked him over and shrugged. It would have to do. Thor removed his cape and did something with his armor so that it was a little less metallic and aggressive looking. The diamond shaped scales on his arms faded to look like a complicated weave of fabric. He still looked pretty dramatic, but he wasn't quite so theatrically over the top.

"You still haven't told me how it does that," Tony frowned at Thor's armor.

"I did tell you, yet you refused to believe. It is magical," Thor said.

Tony grunted.

"Drop in thirty," Clint told them.

Thor, Steve, and Buck stood on the rear hatch of the jet and waited. Steve looked at Thor's hammer which was strapped at his hip. Thor thought nothing of the fact that Steve was going to a church function with his shield on his back. Buck grimaced at his exposed arm, but he was too hungry to care much.

The jet slowed and they could feel the wing turbines flare. Nat lowered the hatch and they jumped as soon as there was enough head clearance.

* * *

 

  
"Would ya look at that?" Jimmy said.

He need not have bothered. Everyone was looking, already. Most of the parishioners who had come for the meal had stayed behind to help clean up. When Father told them that Steve was coming back and that they should stay out of the parking lot for the next five minutes, that's exactly where they had to go. Father Ken shook his head and smiled at them as in groups of two or three, they snuck off to the parking lot to see whatever they would see.

What they saw was a large, strange jet with turbines that made the shrubbery blow around and the dust kick up. It cruised in and hovered beside the church for just long enough that three men could jump from the rear of it.

A burst of exclamations went up as Steve, Thor, and Bucky fell the sixty feet to the asphalt lot. Instead of crumpling into broken heaps upon landing, they barely bent their knees from the impact, and immediately started walking toward the church hall in the back. The jet and its noisy wind rushed off, away to the tower.

Steve smiled and waved at the people. Thor grinned too, because it seemed that Steve was greeting friends instead of a crowd of strangers. Buck glanced aside at Steve as they approached the folks and rolled his eyes at his friend's happy-puppy response to these people. Buck thought that if Steve had a tail, he'd be wagging it.

The crowd suddenly found themselves standing aimless and not knowing what to do. They'd wanted to see, but now Steve and his friends were approaching and they were standing around like gawkers. It was Slayter that saved them from an awkward moment and allowed them to drift away.

"Steve-Merica! How come your jet doesn't have any landing gear?" Slayter called.

He tugged out of his mother's hand and ran right up to Steve. Thor had to step aside a little to avoid walking over the boy. As soon as the other children saw Slayter going, they all wanted to go too, except for the shy ones. Sixteen children ran out after Slayter and they all jumbled around the men as they walked.

"It has landing gear, but Natasha and Clint knew we wouldn't be landing, so they didn't put it down. If you could see the tower from here, I bet you could see the gear coming down about now," Steve told Slayter.

He pulled his shield from the harness on his back when he felt kids jumping and reaching to touch it. He gave it to a girl who was barely big enough to hold it and he looked over to see how Buck was doing in the crowd of kids.

"That's amazing! Is your skin under there?" a boy asked Bucky.

"No. It's just metal," Buck said, a little on the terse side.

"Does it move? I thought I saw it move," a girl said.

She reached out to take Buck by the hand, and he twitched his fingers open.

"Whoa!" the kids said nearly as one.

The girl persisted and grabbed Buck's finger to hold onto. She started skipping as they walked and swung Buck's arm back and forth as she wiggled.

"It's so shiny. I like your star. I want a tattoo, but mama says I can't have one," she whispered up to Bucky loudly.

Buck smiled in a way Steve hadn't seen in long years.

"Are you Thor? You have to be Thor, 'cause you have a hammer," a boy said.

"Indeed I am. Who are you?" Thor asked.

"I'm Donovan, and this is my sister Kaitlin, and that's my cousin Claudia. And Slayter and Johnny, and Theresa, and April, and Blaise, and…" the child stopped talking when his backwards walking bumped him into somebody.

He turned around to look up at Father Ken.

"Oh, hi, Father,"

"Hi, Donnie. Thanks for making the introductions, but maybe we should let them go eat. I think they're really hungry," Father Ken said.

"Oh. Okay," Donnie said.

The children moved off reluctantly as their parents called them away.

"You gonna let them make off with your shield?" Buck asked.

The little girl that admired his tattoo was still holding his fingers.

"They won't go far," Steve said.

He turned to the priest.

"Father, this is Thor. And you see James all the time," Steve said.

"Hello Thor. And James. I wonder why no one ever told me your name," Father said.

He preceded them inside the hall, where most of the people were now, except for the ones outside cleaning the barbecue pit and watching the children.

"Steve-Merica knows that I don't like my name out there. I was only here on duty, so I didn't see the need," Buck said.

Steve laughed a little. He liked 'Steve-'Merica' better than some of the more formal things he was called sometimes. As they entered the propped open doors to the hall, he heard his shield bang into something hard and vibrate.

"Cool!" a boy yelled.

As soon as they rounded the corner to the service counter of the kitchen, the folks went quiet. Steve never liked that, but Earl was standing by to break the silence.

"Saved ya some," he said.

There were twenty boxed dinners on the back counter of the kitchen.

"He wouldn't let us sell them," Martha McLeery said.

"That's a good thing, 'cause I need all of them," Steve pulled out his wallet.

Earl started shaking his head and the lady who was handling the sales shut the metal money box firmly and moved it away.

"Earl, make her stop. I'm gonna pay for this," Steve said in a suddenly quiet voice.

"Uh-oh. I'd let him pay, lady. We don't back talk him when he gets like this," Buck told the lady with a hint of a charming smile.

She was flustered to see how unhappy Steve was with her refusal to take his money, but Buck on a good day could charm most people into a better mood.

"Go on, Betty. Man's gotta eat," Earl grumbled at the lady.

"I'm sorry, Steve. It's just-" she began.

"I know. It's alright. But ya gotta let me pay my way," Steve said kindly.

She took his money for the dinners which had been set aside. Earl returned Steve his hastily given twenty from earlier.

"What can I get you to drink?" an older woman asked the hungry men.

"Coke would be most welcome," Thor said.

"He means give him a big cup of ice and a 2-liter," Steve told her, to avoid the annoying situation of Thor getting up to get a refill every few minutes.

"Is there any other way?" Thor asked.

The ladies in the kitchen hunted around until they found the largest glasses they had, and then they got down three of them. They looked to Steve and Bucky expectantly.

"Coke is fine for me too," Steve told them.

"Just water, please," Buck said.

Steve started to lead the way to where the tables were set up in the hall, but Happy surprised them by coming in in a hurry.

"Captain, do you know that there's a bunch of kids running around with your shield out there?" he said, clearly flustered at the impropriety.

"It's fine, Happy. I gave it to them. You know they can't hurt it," Steve said.

He was fast approaching a level of hunger where he was going to have a hard time keeping a smile on his face.

"But they've got it stuck in a tree," Happy complained.

"That takes talent," Buck said.

"Good for them. I'll get it down after I eat. Earl, we'll take six of those dinners right now, and Jimmy, can you help Happy carry the other ones out to the car?" Steve asked.

"Can do," Jimmy said.

Earl brought their food out while women from the kitchen brought two large bottles of Coca Cola and a pitcher of water for Bucky.

The church hall was busy with people standing around chatting, and some small children playing in the far corner.

Steve went straight for the table. He gave thanks for his food as he walked toward it. Finally, after more than a day of anticipation, he was going to get to sit down and eat barbecue. Father Ken looked at Steve's single-minded determination and at how people moved aside to get out of his way. He knew his flock. They were waiting around to get a chance to talk to Steve and his friends.

"Alright, people, this is a dining hall right now. If you're not eating at this very moment, then clear out," Father Ken said in a voice he'd clearly used in the Army.

People looked at him in bafflement, but their normally gentle pastor was unshakable and ready to bark at them again. He gestured to the double doors, and people started moving out.

"You're gonna catch crap for that," Bucky said.

"Thank me later. If they stayed, they'd talk to you the whole time you're trying to eat. Steve looks like he's about to bite someone if he doesn't eat," Father said.

Steve was beyond caring that he was being spoken about like he wasn't there. Ken was glad he'd cleared everyone out, because the sound Steve made when he bit into the barbecue ribs was nothing short of obscene. The ladies would have been talking about it for months. That sound, and the look on his face.

The priest chuckled and moved to the side table to get himself some coffee and a large piece of coconut cake. Thor and Buck didn't waste time after seeing how much Steve enjoyed the food.

"Mmmpf. This is not roast. This is…" Thor quit trying to speak and just fed himself.

Bucky ate faster than Steve. He was just as hungry, but he wasn't able to savor it as much. Most times, food was food. Sometimes when he wasn't starving, he could force himself to slow down and notice the flavors. He eyed the second meal set aside for him. Maybe after he'd eaten the first one, he could slow down for the next one.

Thor banged his fist on the table. The plastic folding table bounced hard enough to almost spill their drinks. Steve growled a warning at Thor.

"I am sorry, but this is fantastic. We must have this often. Why have we not already?" Thor asked sternly. His words were a little garbled because he was still chewing.

"Because Pepper is concerned about Tony's cholesterol. And Darcy and Jane are afraid of getting fat," Bucky said between bites.

"Ridiculous. Anthony is in fine health. The women need not worry. Neither of them is portly, and if they become so, they will be all the more lovely. What is this sauce?" Thor asked. He licked the corner of his mouth.

"You can't have my sauce," Earl called from the kitchen.

"He's serious. You're not getting it," Steve said after a gulp of coke.

Father left his cake and coffee to bring a roll of paper towels and some damp cloths from the kitchen. Earl and his wife Marva came in and helped themselves to cake and coffee. Father Ken saw that the men were past the first desperate minutes of satisfying their hunger, so he nodded at Marva, who whispered something to someone out the door.

The bones from their meal were stacking up, and Steve slowed down enough to dig into his potato salad. He almost moaned again, but Father Ken frowned at him and shook his head slightly. Steve understood and kept his enjoyment to himself. They'd already had a talk about Steve not tempting the ladies beyond what they could politely handle. Ken had put into concise words many of the things Steve had already observed over the years.

Older men and women started to come in and serve themselves coffee and dessert. Buck saw curious and cautious looks at his arm. Thor was large, but cheerful, so people smiled politely and sat right next to and across from him. Steve was well known enough that people mostly looked at his uniform. Father Ken was sitting across from Steve like a watchdog. Anyone who came close and looked like they were going to start idle conversation got a steely eye from the priest. They got the message and moved on down the long row of tables to find a seat.

Conversation started up around them, but it was relaxed and pleasant. Bucky finished his second meal and reached for the damp cloth. Father Ken passed it to him with no flinch whatsoever when their hands touched, metal to flesh. Buck nodded his thanks, then wiped his mouth and his hands clean. Barbecue sauce was just as difficult to clean out of his prosthetic hand as blood was.

Thor was next to clean up, but Steve was still savoring his food.

"Earl, would you maybe bottle some sauce for my freezer? I don't have to know what's in it," Steve said at last.

"For you, sure. But no science lab stuff with it," Earl said.

"I promise," Steve said sincerely.

Earl nodded.

" _You_ are responsible for this meal," Thor said to Earl.

"Not just me. There's seven of us that came in last night to get it going," Earl said.

He didn't look spooked to be talking to a Norse legend at all.

"You are masters of meat," Thor said with certainty.

"I'll take that as a compliment, coming from a fella old as you," Earl said.

"As you should," Thor nodded.

He got up and followed Bucky to the dessert table.

"Help yourselves, loves. There's plenty," one of the ladies told them.

Thor had finished his 2-liter coke, but he still had room for a cup of coffee. A woman came over to fill a plate for him with homemade cakes, pies, and cookies.

Bucky served himself, though a lady did try to help.

"I got this, but thanks," Buck said.

He had a hard time letting people do things for him.

Steve finally cleaned his hands and mouth of barbecue sauce and grease. He looked at his empty plates with both satisfaction and sorrow.

"We'll have another barbecue in February," Earl assured him.

"I want to learn," Steve said hopefully.

"What kinda grill do ya have at the tower?" Earl asked.

"I don't know. It's a little thing on the roof. Tony does Japanese food on it," Steve said.

"Oh. One of those. No, you need a real pit," Earl said.

"Tony can build one," Steve said.

"Stark? Building a barbecue pit?" Earl wondered.

"You bet," Steve said.

Donna Sikes took their plates and bones and dirty napkins away when it was clear that Steve was finished eating.

Three other ladies brought Steve coffee and the desserts they knew he liked best.

Bucky chuckled at him as he thanked the ladies and dug in.

Father Ken looked at someone by the doors and waved a hand.

Kids and younger people came inside, and two really small children were dragging Steve's shield to him across the floor. Steve smiled at them and leaned back to show them where the mags were on his harness. Slayter came over and helped them lift the shield onto Steve's back.

"Watch out!" Marva said in a hurry, and Steve got banged on the back of the head with the edge of his own shield before he felt the mags catch hold.

"It's fine. I get hit harder in my sleep, Marva," Steve said.

"I'm really sorry, Mister Steve," Slayter said mournfully at his elbow.

The two smaller children had run off in fright when they'd accidentally clobbered Steve.

"Don't worry about it, Slayter. How did you get it out of the tree?" Steve asked.

He was enjoying coffee and dessert, but he was in no hurry now.

"We threw rocks at it til it fell. It sounds cool when you hit it," Slayter said. He patted the shield, then rubbed his hand on the edge of it.

"I know," Steve agreed.

He handed a cookie to Slayter. Slayter smiled secretively and took it. He looked around for his mother, and when he didn't see her, he shoved half the cookie into his mouth.

"Slayterrrr, did your mom say not to eat cookies?" Steve asked the boy.

"Mmmf-nnn," Slayter woggled his head in a way that could mean yes or no.

"Well, if she fusses, tell her it's my fault. I'll have to apologize later," Steve said.

Slayter ran off to find his mom.

"Did you just get yourself in trouble?" Bucky asked.

"Maybe," Steve admitted.

He was smiling and he looked a little sleepy, which was unusual when he was in uniform.

Thor sipped his coffee and leaned back in this plastic folding chair until it creaked ominously. People carried on around them much as it had been when they walked into the hall.

"These are a happy people, Ken Father. You do well by them," Thor observed.

"They do well with or without me. I'm only a servant," Father Ken said. He graciously accepted whatever Thor wanted to call him.

"A servant? Steven said you were the priest of this temple," Thor asked.

"A priest is a servant. That might seem strange. You're welcome to come by any time. I would enjoy talking with you about the customs of your realm," Father Ken said.

"It would be far easier to take you to Asgard and show you. You are a learned man, yes?" Thor asked.

Steve and Bucky watched the conversation with interest.

"There are many men far wiser than me," Father Ken answered.

Thor looked at him shrewdly.

"Maybe now isn't the time for diplomatic negotiations?" Steve suggested.

"But I have questions," Thor said.

"Later would be good," Steve said.

"Steve, Earl tells me that you all eat mostly take-out," Marva said like it was an accusation.

"Yes, ma'am. But it's not like you think. We order from nice places. The food is good, and they know to bring plenty. Darcy makes sure we're stocked for breakfast, and there's a great lunch café in the tower. I don't want you to worry about us," Steve assured her.

"Well," Marva said uncertainly.

The afternoon was winding down, and most things in the kitchen had been cleaned and put away by now. People had lingered because of the novelty of nearly half the Avengers team coming to visit, but even that was losing its glamor as Thor, Bucky, and Steve continued to sit around and visit like completely normal people.

Most people were gone, and Steve was about to walk back to the tower with his friends, but he needed the restroom first. After he dried his hands on the scratchy brown paper, he passed the kitchen on his way to the hall.

"Lord forgive me, but I can't help myself. It's bad enough when he dresses modestly for us. You can't hide a body like that. But that uniform. God, Eileen! His thighs! I bet he could drive right through a girl-"

"You take his thighs. I want his rump and his shoulders. We can share his belly. I bet he's got those little ridges all up and down it," Eileen whispered.

"He's a big fella. I bet there's plenty to share," the other woman whispered, and then they both laughed quietly, with that breathless female giggle that would have told him exactly what they were talking about even if Steve didn't understand their language.

"Hi," Steve said as he walked into the kitchen with them.

Eileen and Carol nearly choked on their tongues, they were so startled to see him.

Steve ambled over to the coffee pot near them and poured some into a little styrofoam cup. He could hear their hearts thundering in panic. He let them suffer through it for a moment, with them wondering if they'd been overheard. When he had his coffee just right with a little sugar and a little cream, he casually turned to them.

"Your husbands are nice guys. Friends of mine. Do they know what you talk about?" Steve asked the women.

He kept a sharp ear out so that he wouldn't get caught talking, either. Nobody was around for right now. Most everyone was still in the hall, or had already gone home.

"What do you mean, honey?" Eileen asked.

She was trying to brazen it out, but Steve could still hear her heart tripping over itself. Her pulse was jumping and her skin was flushed, despite her overly cool and casual posture.

"I mean my thighs that can drive right through a girl. My ass. My shoulders. And you wondered if I've got good abdominal definition. I do. You want to know what else is absolutely spectacular about my body?" Steve offered.

Maybe Carol really, truly couldn't help herself, because she nodded even though she knew they'd been caught.

"My ears. I can hear the slightest sound, even a little whisper, from very far away," Steve told them.

He kept his voice low, a comforting rumble rather than a tight bark of reprimand. He had to socialize with these people. He didn't want them to resent him. He even smiled a little to soften their fear.

"I'm so-, I mean, I'm not going to lie. I said it and you caught me. But please, Steve, have a little mercy. We didn't mean anything bad by it. We were just admiring you," Eileen pleaded.

"I understand. You couldn't have known. But now you do. I'm not angry. I hear this kind of thing all the time. You have no idea. But I was hoping not to hear it here. It's a little disappointing," he said sadly.

He made sure to give them the look that always had Bucky bending to his way of thinking when they were kids. It worked like a charm. He had to lean his rump against the kitchen counter and tilt his head down like he was fascinated with his coffee to get the right effect, but it worked. He looked at them with imploring eyes, and they melted like ice cream on the sidewalk.

"Oh God, honey, you're so sweet to not be mad at us. You won't tell Chuck or Bob, will you?" Carol asked.

"I can overlook it this time. Just be sure you're sweet to your husbands, alright? They're good guys, and I don't want them to feel bad if they knew," Steve encouraged them.

Carol and Eileen were so smitten that they hardly noticed the veiled threat Steve gave them. They'd remember it later, though. He swirled the little red plastic straw in his coffee for moment longer.

"You acknowledged that I try to dress modestly. I don't go around trying to stir people up, you know. It's not my choice to look like this. Help me out here. What else can I do?" he asked them.

Steve had found that involving people in finding a solution to their problems worked best.

"It's not a thing that can be reasoned out, Steve. It's not the reasonable part of the mind that it comes from," Carol said.

Even now, her eyes flickered down him and back up. Steve wondered if she knew she'd done it.

"Then tell me what I can do to make things easier for everyone," Steve asked again.

The women stood frozen for a moment, then they looked at each other and tried very hard not to laugh. Eileen rolled her eyes and Carol blushed crimson and looked away. Steve sighed. It was so predictable. He could almost read their minds.

"That's not gonna happen. You should both know better. If I'm already doing all I can, then it's up to you to keep a lid on yourselves," Steve said without any hint of humor.

The women composed themselves at seeing that Steve didn't think the situation was very funny.

"I'm real sorry. I'll try to do better," Carol said.

Eileen simply nodded.

"Maybe you can tell the others that I can hear them? That might help," Steve suggested.

Eileen nodded again. Steve didn't wait for Carol to get over her embarrassment. She was looking at the floor while he turned to walk out of the kitchen. As he walked away, he heard Eileen slapping at Carol. From the corner of his view, Eileen was gesturing toward Steve's retreating backside. It was difficult to maintain his customary understated walk while he was in his uniform. It was his habit to stride with purpose and let his body do as it liked. Here, he had to tone things down. The unruly male part of his brain that he mostly kept gagged wanted to flaunt in front of the women, but he shoved the urge down again.

Thor was having words with Father Ken again, and Bucky was watching the two with a pained face. Steve studiously ignored the females in the room who stopped talking to watch him approach.

"If they keep this up, the church is going to be sending mission priests to Asgard. And everywhere else that can be reached from there," Bucky grumbled quietly to Steve.

"Then it's time for us to head home," Steve said.

Thor heard their quiet comments and made his polite goodbyes to the priest and the gracious ladies who were still trying to give him cake. Bucky got up when Thor did, and he had no choice but to take the platter of covered desserts that Marva handed to him to take back to the tower.

"Your friends got the meals, but dessert was supposed to go with," she said.

"Thanks," Buck said as kindly as he could. He made a slight face at the sight of his silver hand gripping the floral platter covered in cakes and plastic wrap. He looked to Steve and held out the platter. An assassin in black leather holding an old lady platter of treats looked too funny to put an end to.

"You've got it," Steve told him with a grin.

They made their goodbyes to the last lingering people, and started the walk back to the tower. People couldn't help but know who they were along the way, so they walked briskly and didn't slow down to talk. Buck bitched about having to carry the desserts the whole way, but neither Thor nor Steve relieved him of the duty.

They arrived at the common room of Avenger's tower to find their comrades strewn about in post-prandial bliss. Bucky set the dessert platter on the bar and stomped off with a messy hunk of pie in his hand.

"I will find the sauce of Earl and replicate it on Asgard where the man need never know of it," Thor said.

He joined Clint on the couch and loosed his hammer to set on the coffee table.

"If you find that sauce, you're sharing with me," Clint told him.

"I'll tell Earl," Steve warned with a smile.

"Where is your loyalty?" Thor teased him.

"Hey, Earl's a friend, too," Steve said.

He took off his shield and flung it into the part of the far wall that was already marked with shield slices, then he flopped down near Bruce.

"You have to do that again," Tony said, "Pepper only let me eat any because _you_ sent it."

Tony was still sucking on the edge of his thumb, as if he didn't want to waste any of the barbecue's lingering flavors on a napkin.

"I might," Steve said.

Tony perked up at the bargaining tone Steve used.

"I _might_ bring you barbecue again. _If_ you stop talking down about my faith," Steve said.

Tony narrowed his eyes at Steve, but he didn't stop savoring what was left on his fingers.

Steve left no room for argument. He turned away from Tony to look at Natasha, who had gone over to lift the plastic wrap over the desserts.

She gave him an appreciative little smile and made off down the hall with a ridiculously huge piece of chocolate cake.

Steve laid his head back on the couch, stretched his legs out, and rubbed his belly. Bruce grunted a sound of satisfaction at him and Steve nodded. Articulate words weren't needed.

For once, Steve felt mostly satisfied. He felt a little more whole than he usually did. A full belly and a quiet afternoon to digest was all he wanted right now, and it looked like he was about to get it.


End file.
